


It's Just Emotions

by jessythewriter



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Angst, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Emotional Hurt, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, M/M, Pain, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Teen John Watson, Teen Sherlock, i wanna try writing this kind of stuff, in the later part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessythewriter/pseuds/jessythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been through a lot of pain, and he needs a savior to redeem him. He finds it in the company of a stranger on the other side of the wall of his bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi to y'all! I appreciate you for wasting your time to read this trash. Please I do appreciate comments as I am trying to improve my writing skills.
> 
> woot woot

Pain. Everything else in the world revolves around pain, especially in the world of Sherlock Holmes. He felt pain when his parents both passed away in an accident at the early age of ten. He felt a stab in his heart every time his brother Mycroft receives punches and kicks from their drunk uncle intended for him.  His heart crushed, knowing that he will be separated again to his only family to go to an all-boys boarding school.

Now he felt another different kind of pain, one fine sunny afternoon. A strike on his head by a blunt force, a sting on the side of his lip as crimson blood dripped from it. A kick in the stomach, a punch in the throat, a small utter emerging from his mouth.

“P-Please…” A whisper then followed, “…stop.” Sherlock Holmes, now 15 years old, made these words, as he is slumped into the ground, tasting both his saliva and the dust in the ground, in fetal position protecting even just his interior organs, as laughter and shouts bursted around him.

“So this is how you think it will end Holmes, eh? With us beating you and then hear you beg?” a boy said, his shirt unbuttoned three buttons down the neck, pants and shoes dusted due to kicking Sherlock. Another boy, in his white undershirt, his long sleeves clinging onto his shoulder gripped Sherlock’s curly hair. “This is what we do to weirdos like you, if you don’t stay out from other people’s business.” Everybody else around him laughed. Each of the five boys surrounded Sherlock ended up their own fight club with only him to assault. They left him there, in an agony of physical pain.

 _Pain, once again_.

No, it was not him. He was not the main reason why he received this anguish from those five boys. It was not his rational thinking, but his piled up emotions when he saw them picking a boy younger than them. It made him recall his past experiences with his uncle, so he never wanted another to experience the pain, and so he was the one who received the first blow instead of the young boy.

 _That’s what you get_.

Back to the dormitory, he managed to carry himself, dragging one leg while holding his arm with the other. His body now struggles, trying to betray him. Much more, a pain he once again felt for making yet another wrong decision in his life: being the subject of another’s pain.

He took off his clothes and took a glance at them: a glance of dread. _Sherlock Holmes, why are you so pathetic?_ Flashes of him being made like a punching bag earlier made his stomach churn. Fully naked, he managed to look into the mirror hanged next to his poster of the periodic table of elements, which he remembered, served as a parting gift from Mycroft. Now he is looking at his reflection full of bruises and discolorations. Self-empathy was the only emotion he felt.

The room is quite large to be inhabited by one person, yet it smells of old furniture. Cobwebs hanging on all four corners, a creaking bed with a poor mattress by the window which lit the entire room by midnight. To that, Sherlock finds a bit of happiness, on solitude and silence, yet these made him regret living in this cruel world.

He assissted himself to the bathroom, where only a shower and a faucet function at different times. The water rushes through the showerhead when turned on, yet when he turned the faucet underneath it at the same time it works, but the shower gives him off water droplets. _This again, huh_. He turned the faucet off again to let the showerhead do its function. He felt liberated as he started to feel the cold, running water touched his head first, down to his neck, tingling on his back and finally ran through his whole body. As he submerged his almost-distorted face into the water, eyes closed, he felt calm for a second, as if nothing happened today. He stayed like that for fifteen seconds. Suddenly, panic rushed to him, like blood flow, which can never be stopped, as he felt excruciating misery on his entire body. The water blocked his airway, and he opened his mouth to feel air, then finally realized he needed to move away from the water to be able to breathe again. He breathed heavily, as he pushed his back on the wall, leaning and watched above the only lightbulb he saw as a source of light. He panted, tears now pooling in his eyes, as one started to drop making his hand wet.

_Please, somebody, save me._

The only thing Sherlock could hear was the showerhead still giving off water. He just sat there, waiting for someone to save him.

Suddenly he heard noises, other than the dripping water. Panic fueled again, but he tried to calm himself down by slowing his breath rate. He can hear footsteps, then it stopped. He then heard panting as well, louder than his. _It’s a human being_ , he instantly deduced. His highly well-oiled brain does not need any precursor to do so. The heaves grew louder, and if it’s louder, it’s nearer, near to him.

On the other side of the wall where Sherlock Holmes took a very uncalmly bath, a man was catching his breath, taking a break from running for his precious life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John never thought that the biggest shit of his life happens today. A voice he never heard before helps him amidst these unfortunate events.

It was a quiet evening, but his strong footsteps raved as well as his uneven breathing are among the things he can clearly hear. The forest was lit by moonlight, yet his vision starts to fail him, as he now experiencing black outs. The a hustle of wind came strong, but it was only fear that he could feel. John Watson never ran for his life like this before.

He was running away from the loan sharks, which practically preyed all of the money his sister earned for both of them. Harriet was a fish vendor in the market, while John used to pick up vegetables falling from truck carriers. Altogether earnings were just nearly enough for the both of them. This is where credits and debts come into picture.

Of course, John became tired of this life. He always dreamed of being those among that can read, play with friends, go to school, wear that fancy uniform. But all he could get were tattered clothing, being a street vendor at his age, tried on small gambling on street corners, and always get fooled by merchants for not knowing how to do basic math.

_Yes, the world is full of bullshit and crap._

Now, he felt all the bullshit and crap piled up altogether and was dumped at once above his shoulders in one night. When he got home earlier that night from vegetable-picking, he noticed their door ajar. As he attempted to open it, he heard talking from the inside. Setting his one eye on the open space, he saw his sister, crying and uttered, “Please, I will do anything, just don’t hurt us!”

“Well, since this has been really a world of full trade, let me give you an option. Your debt will be paid fully if you give us your little brother in exchange.” The man, in his 6 feet height, made a maniacal laugh altogether with his companions. “He will be a great option for our newly built prostitution den! Isn’t that right boys?” Then they laughed again hysterically.

What mainly surprised John is that his sister did not respond to anything at all. Suddenly, he saw movement, as she tried to stab the man’s hand with a  sheer knife which emerged from underneath her apron. With a loud scream by the giant man, Harriet noticed his brother and yelled, “Run John! Run as fast as you can!”

The events lead to John’s current state. As he ran off the streets, several men almost caught him, but thanks to his small height and body weight, even though for a teenager at 17 years old, he was able to quickly move, as he and his friends used to do while playing ninja-like games. As he went past the gate of the slums, he felt a stinging pain on the back of his arm. Blood emerged from the cut made by a knife thrown at him. He felt like puking, but it would be no use to do so and stare at it for a little longer.

Now John’s life is dependent on the strength of his legs, on the quietness of his breath, and on the stealth of his body movement. He found himself lying his back against a wall of the building, now feeling how shitty his large cut made him feel. He tried to pull off the knife still buried inside his flesh while giving off the smallest noises he can ever give off.

Finally he succeeded in getting the knife off. Then he tore a piece of clothing from his tattered pants, tied it up on the site of injury and applied pressure to it. This is how his dad taught him to treat wounds. Yes, his dad being a soldier in the country until he died when he was 12. Aside from the feeling he got from the environment, he heard noises of dripping water not far from him. After a few minutes of panting and heavy breathing, the noise disappeared. _Am I imagining things?_ He closed his eyes…

“Hello, is somebody there?”

He immediately opened his eyes, as he was being startled by the voice.

“Hello?” the voice called once again. Now, instead of being startled, he felt something wrong with the voice, as if he calls to be saved.

 “Do you need help?” the voice asked to him, now he felt more echo from it, and realizing that it was very near to him. It came from the other side of the wall of the building where his body is slumped against.

Finally, he decided to talk back. “I… I do. How did you know?”

“Your breath sounds erratic. You seemed to have bled somewhere in the part of your body. Possibly an arm, since you can still talk straightly. If it is on the leg, you will be talking while having more heavy breaths. More severe bleeding will not make you talk anymore.” Now the voice sounded a little confident, as if it was just waiting for his answer. More than that, he was amazed by how the voice deduced his current state. As if he was there the whole time witnessing his escape.

“My arm… I was stabbed in the arm.” Now John felt another surge of pain. Suddenly he felt something drop on his head, a not-so heavy material. When he touched and looked at it, it was a piece of a white towel, soaked in warm water. He immediately looked and now realizations came into place. He was leaning on a bathroom wall, and the voice was from inside the bathroom. He then realized that the water he heard was probably from this person taking a bath. He looked again to see that there was a window directly above his head.

“Please use that to clean your wound so that it won’t get infected. I’ll be right back to get some first aid.”

John looked again to the sky. _That voice, it needs saving. But today, let me be the one saved by it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically this is just John's back story... enjoy!
> 
> woot woot


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations are normal for people. But is it normal to tell a truth about yourself to someone whose face you never saw before?

_A stranger. I am helping a stranger._

Sherlock never helped anyone before, let alone a stranger that he senses to be running for his life. _A prodigal? A criminal? A convict?_ He was not so sure. He was not sure enough what pushed him to help the stranger.

Almost feeling the pain the outsider felt, he threw his white towel outside, implying that the only window in his bathroom is directly above the man’s head based on the near distance he can hear the breathing. The towel was  among the dormitory package. The boarding school was kind enough to provide a kit, even though for someone like him. But nonetheless, he will never get one again. However, no double thinking was needed.

Then from the slumber of running water to the faucet turned off, Sherlock went immediately to his bed to get a plastic bag with some medical supplies. From there he obtained items that were necessary to treat the cut wound, as based on his knowledge. Yes, he was in Year Eleven as any other British kid should be, but his mind needed more: more information. His brain constantly commits a grave sin: a gluttony for knowledge, knowledge of everything. Except his brain, as what he constantly expresses on his emails to Mycroft (to which he highly doubt his brother reads), is like a hard drive, and space is an important factor to retain what is important, and those which are not, to trash. His medical knowledge was as important as his knowledge of basic algebra: a foundation of almost everything, most especially as he tended his and his brother’s wounds all by himself. Now, he is currently learning Developmental cell biology along with Evolutionary biology, so this one’s what they call, an “easy peasey”.

Walking back towards the smallest closed place in his room, he brought back two old shirts soaked in warm water, an antibiotic ointment, along with some bandages. Piece by piece, he dropped it out of the small opening.

“Thank you.” The voice answered just after he dropped everything.

“I suppose you have detached the knife from your arm. Please clean your wound using those old shirts, apply the ointment, and place the bandage around. If you are a grown man, then you can manage.”

“Okay, sounds rude, but okay.” The stranger retorted.

Sherlock felt his ears come alive and they are starting to get hot. “What? Rude? Well, thanks to me your skin would be an infected dead meat so yes, you’re welcome!”

“Now, now please don’t be mad. I really appreciate it. Please don’t…”

 _What is this feeling?_ There is something inside Sherlock that wants to get out, something that he needed to express, something…

“Ha ha. Ha ha. HA HA HA!” Sherlock started to laugh. His gloomy tears were converted to happy ones. It got happier when the other party laughed with him, although there were mixed with pained moans, the stranger managed to laugh. Oh euphoria, a sudden outbreak hard to break. He felt like a proper idiot, like a normal person.

_I like this feeling. It makes me forget the pain, even for just a brief moment._

“So stuck into a boring life, eh mate?” The unfamiliar guest talked back again.

“Unfortunately, yes. Gets worse if you’re being constantly bullied by idiots.” He didn’t realize he was uttering facts about his life. _I’m telling the truth to a stranger. It’s much easier to do so these days._

“Idiots? So does that mean you’re the clever one?”

“Yes. I highly think so.”

“You know, in the place that I live, I am the bully.”

“So bullies do get what they deserve: getting stabbed clumsily on the arm.”

“Not my fault I was born in that place, in this state of living, in this… misfortune.”

“Yes.. We do have our own misfortunes…”

The tone of the conversation went gloomy. It’s like a decreasing trend in the graph.

For the first time, John felt two feelings in just a short period of time, in the company of someone he does not any prior knowledge about. _Misfortunes. The ghosts which haunt us in an entire lifetime._

“I guess I need to get back home.” He tried to start the conversation all over again.

“Back to where you were served that circumstance you are in now?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Is this where we bid farewells?”

“I think. Yes, it is.”

John didn’t move, until the lights went off. Silence shouted back at him. The voice was already gone. He clutched hardly at the white towel in his hand, now even looked red with his blood.

_I hope this won’t be the last._

Meanwhile Sherlock put on his proper dressing gown, realizing that he was naked in all of the duration of chit chatting with the unknown wounded fellow. He went to bed and covered himself with the crumpled duvet, and rested his head in his ragged pillow.

_Endings will never be to the liking of mine._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two strangers bud off their first moments as friends without faces.

It has been three days since John’s encounter with the good Samaritan, and for some reason he can never stop thinking about that voice, a voice longing for a rescue. That someone, who got him that towel, now being folded on his desk, all clean once again. Restlessness subdued to the blonde boy and again, he clutched the fabric in his hands as he lay down in his folding bed.

_What is he like?_

_It’s probably a “he”. For a kid in a boarding school, his voice is really deep, baritone if you must._

_Is he taller? Are we of the same age? Is he rich?_

John can never get enough of the questions. For some reason in just one night he made friends, a friend on the other side of that wall.

_What is his name?_

Back at the boarding school, Sherlock is back in his own little hell hole: in the comrade of bullies, his thick and heavy textbooks as allies, and in the company of nothing.

However, there was something that made him smile. His beloved brother Mycroft finally got in touch with him. Well, basically he received an email and it said “Soon, Sherlock. I will be seeing you and I promise you to get you out of that prison cell.” Well it’s the only thing he believes in.

Well, not the only thing. Taking into consideration is the wounded fellow he chatted with three days ago.

_Curiosity will never get me to one point. After all it was the first and the last._

During the night, Sherlock was reading _The Principles of the Intelligent Design Theory_ and realized how absurd it is. _An unknown governing force mediating evolution is just ridiculous!_ The pen was like the only friend that night as he underlined everything he thought were illogical.

“Hey! Hey! Mate? Hey!” A voice lurked and echoed from his bathroom door. He immediately got up from his bed and immediately switched the lights on.

Why Sherlock felt excited and relieved, he never knew. He was just happy that it was the same voice that he heard three days ago, and he can’t wait to talk again to him.

John on the other hand, felt alleviated when he saw the beam of light from the room. _Thank God I wasn’t being ignored._

_But wait, why do I care if I’m being ignored or not?_

“I thought that was the last three days ago.” The voice echoed from the bathroom.

“Well, I would like to thank you for saving my arm from decay.” He tried to sound as if it was a joke.

“Are you fully healed?”

“Aside from a prominent scar, everything’s been fantastic.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Just as I thought. Here.”

John caught something in his palm. It was a scar ointment.

“Thank you, again. You’ve been a very helpful hand.”

“Savor that. I’m never like that to anyone.”

“That’s not the impression I’m giving you.”

“Better think twice.”

John doesn’t know what or how to answer back.

Sherlock wants to dilute the awkwardness.

“I want to give this back.” John tried hanging the towel on the window.

Sherlock just waited while he can hear hard stomps and unlucky jump attempts that he laughs.

Meanwhile, John’s sweat is dripping from all over the place. Until finally, for the love of God, the towel hanged. He had a smug drawn. Suddenly, devastation fell on him, along with the towel right on his face.

“Pretty difficult for a boy with a small height.” Sherlock giggled.

John felt really embarrassed. “W-Why did you assume? For all I know I-I’m taller than you are!”

“Well, you’re kind of catching a breath, but not that kind of what happened the first time we met. I heard some stomps and jumps and the fact that I can easily throw things at you means I am taller than you. The failure of giving back the towel means you really have a short height. Denial means you resent it. Forget about the towel, keep it.”

_Goddamn Sherlock, you’re doing it again. WEIRDO!_

John was dumbstruck. _He just fucking knew that, like he has eyes on me here. And he knows I fucking hate it._

“Dude… that’s just… awesome! I mean, that’s so cool and you never even met me! Where were you in my life? We could be the best buddies! W-we could be cops for the best!” John can never contain his excitement. It was like a dog first released from its confinement.

_He didn’t call me a weirdo or a show-off._ Sherlock could tell by his voice that the boy was genuinely amused by his deductions, and even considered him as a “best buddy”. Never for once in his life did he hear that.

“Th-Thank you…” was all he could say.

He was answered with a giggle from the other party, and they both laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments shared together, friendship that lasts for a lifetime. Will they continue being like this?

Days continued to pass like waters in a stream, as the budding friendship of two lonely boys caught up with the current of meaningless conversations, childish laughs, and unforgettable memories. Every other night the blonde boy will always find an excuse to meet the stranger confined inside the wall of an echoing room: the stranger who was always eager to wait for him before he goes to bed. John’s visits became a part of Sherlock’s daily routine.

_Pain can be easily subdued in the presence of a friend._

One time when Sherlock gave the unknown party a bag of his favorite cookies he saved up his money with, John finally asked the question Shelock didn’t know how to answer.

“Hey, it has been like four, five months since we…”

“Four months, sixteen days, twenty…”

“Yeah, yeah, you clever, show-off bastard. So… Isn’t it time to know each other’s names?”

Sherlock finds it so hard to answer the question, and he doesn’t know why. “Can’t we just stay like this?”

“Well, I just call you by ‘hey’ or ‘mate’. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, it is. You know, kinds of mystery being an added flavor.”

“If that’s what you like, show-off.”

“If you please take into consideration to shut up, Sir Midget, it would be England’s pride!”

Sherlock was really amazed by his stranger’s stories: about him picking up vegetables, how he smack a boy bigger than him because of stepping on his entire collection and got wounded, how “superb” he was at running from those bad guys that ended up meeting him, and how amazing he is for taking care of his sister at his very young immature age.

John on the other hand felt empathy on his stranger’s accounts: the suffering of a young, brilliant boy separated from his only brother by an abusive uncle. But however, what’s more fascinating is his way of talking, it’s like talking to a man always out of his time. _It’s like a time machine that brought him here._ He feels angry every time he asks about his day and he would answer “Great I guess” in a cracking tone, as if he was about to cry and later on figures out that he has been tortured again due to his objection to belong in a socializing situation.

“Oh come on dude, you need to learn how to fight.” He suggests in a very assertive manner.

“Physical fighting would only mean that I stoop down into their level of idiocy.”

“But this just means that you are an idiot too, for not fighting what was right!”

“Wow, certainly easy for you to say because you are not in this stupid situation, I AM!”

Sherlock never contained his anger at that moment. _So this is how anger feels_. Heartbeat levels, blood pressure, emotional surge all raised to a higher level at the same time. _This sure feels heavy to handle._

Awkward silence once filled both of them again.

“I’d better go home. I need to wake up early tomorrow.” John said flatly.

“But, you’ve been here not less than fifteen minutes.” He was expecting an answer but silence shouted back.

Then he felt another emotion.

_Why did I shout at him? Is he mad about what I said? Will he come back?_

Fear.

Gladly John could never get enough of his unknown companion. He was addicted to him, always coming back even though he mustn’t.

_I guess I just overreacted._

Immediately the following day, Sherlock was taking a bath when suddenly he noticed three fresh red tomatoes lined up on the window jamb. Relying on his mighty height, he grabbed the first, second, and when he did grab the third, a hand swat his hand away from it. He attempted again, and the hand kept on swatting his away. He finally chuckled.

“Stop it midget.”

“I AM NOT A MIDGET! I AM THE TOMATO GUARDIAN! YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY BABIES AWAY!” John really wanted to laugh. _Yes, I really suck at imitating voices._

“Well, mister Tomato Guardian, it was your fault putting your babies in my window jamb where I am supposed to take a bath. Are you letting them spy on me?”

“NO! NO I DON’T.”

Sherlock laughed in response. “I’m sorry last night. I acted like a child.”

“Oh don’t be. I should be the one apologizing.” John’s normal tone went back.

“Still friends?”

“Why shouldn’t?”

Sherlock felt another emotion: relief.

And on were the days that both of them enjoyed each other’s company. No one can take away their memories with each other. Time passed and Sherlock’s Year Twelve is about to start.

“When I grow up, I want to be a doctor or a soldier! You know, saving lives while killing one, wouldn’t that be awesome?” John proudly shared his aspirations.

Sherlock on the other side was eating an apple his friend gave him. For some reason, his bathroom didn’t feel like one at all. “That’s a good call.”

“How about you?” John’s curiosity went a level higher.

“I don’t know. All I want is to get back to my brother. With my future, that’s still pretty uncertain.”

“Well…”

“Another is finally meeting you in person.”

John was shocked and felt nervous at the same time. “Meet me?”

“Yes. You have been my only friend in this lifetime and I think meeting you and talking to you in person will be a rewarding experience.”

“Let’s do that!” John blurted out!

“I can’t right now. I…”

“Yeah, but you said you’ll gonna be entering Year Twelve right? Students do get vacation rights.”

“I suppose. Campus security is not that heightened as well.”

“So when’s the big break?”

“Next week.”

“Next week it is!”

“Okay, cool.” Sherlock said calmly, but he felt another emotion surging his veins.

_I can’t wait to finally meet my friend on the other side of the wall._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry dear readers. at first i tried to separate John's setting, but instead I drew a line :) John's setting was WAY WAY SHORTER, so sorry sorry
> 
> woot woot

The sun shone brightly at John’s room, emerging from outside to his window. Summer is finally here!

_Today is the day!_

John can’t fight the tingle of excitement he feels. _Oh men, the towel guy, the clever bastard, the fucking show-off! Finally, I’m gonna meet him tonight._

The instructions for the meeting were simple: John was to wait at his spot at the same time he arrives which is around eight in the evening, and his friend will cue his arrival if he turns on the light. But John wants to make it special, after all this will be the first time meeting his friend with a baritone voice. For a moment he thought of a nice gift to give. Could it be maybe a candy bar, or a highly priced toy from the market? He shook his head.

_He’s a rich kid for fuck’s sake. He can get all of that in just a snap of his fingers._

Then he remembered something, and maybe the best meeting gift he can give to his mysterious friend. He looked underneath his pillow and grasped the white towel, perfectly cleaned and kept so that he can ensure that it wouldn’t be lost.

_It’s time to give this back to him, personally, face to face._

Meanwhile, everybody in the boarding school is very excited for the summer vacation. They are all ready and packed to go home. Most of them will spend vacation abroad, but others will stay in their respective local places.

But the vacation vibe does not excite Sherlock Holmes, his meeting with his mysterious friend is.

He has no idea on what face will he show to him, or what will his first words would be towards this person whom his heart has been the closest, yet the face will be of among the firsts of his life.

The bell rang loudly, as well as Sherlock inside his head. He immediately returned to his room, to which he must still pick on what to wear. _How will I present myself to him?_ He dug into his closet for some suitable clothes, like a miner willing to dig for gold even up to the ends of the earth.

_Finally. The most decent I can offer._

Tick tock goes the clock, and in Sherlock’s wristwatch, it’s already thirty minutes past six. He concluded to give his friend a tour of the whole school as a gift. After all, he can’t afford to buy one, or even allowed to go outside the school premises. Guards will be early to off-duty after all.

Sitting on his bed, his eyes wandered on the bathroom across to where he was situated. _If it wasn’t for that bathroom, we wouldn’t have met. If I didn’t offered help, what are the odds that we will meet in this lifetime?_ He went inside the bathroom, and switched on the lights. He always kept in his mind that the light would be the go signal of their meeting. He then proceeded into washing his hands, and finally had a look of himself in the mirror.   _Am I presentable in this outfit?_ He was wearing his only formal attire, saved only for special occasions, and a gift from his mother: a purple long sleeved shirt partnered with his school uniform black slacks, and an old converse shoes, the only ones he have.

_It’s gonna be a special night after all._

He was about to go back to his bed when a familiar form emerged, drawing a silhouette he thought he saw before. Thanks to the beam of the moonlight, the face of the person resurfaced, and Sherlock didn’t know what to utter or how to react.

“It has been quite a long time. You’ve grown up, little brother.”

* * *

It was 7:30 in the evening, and John has already arrived in the woods. Unlike his normal visits, he was now careful not have stains or cuts in his polo shirt. He saved seventy five percent of the money he earned to buy a cheap yet most decent-looking polo shirt he can find in the slum market. He begged for his sister that for just a week he had to do so.

“Oh, quite a special friend John, eh? Even though you’ve never seen him.” His sister quite teases him.

“Shut up Harry. And yes, he is special.”

Euphoria rushed into him because as he neared the spot, the light in the bathroom was already on. _Wow, and I thought I was way more excited for all of this_. He kept his grin to himself. It was also a relief to him that he was not the only one waiting for this moment, the other party is too.

He tried not to cause any noise, as he really wanted to surprise his friend after all. _His super senses are way creepy so I need to be careful_.

And from there, he just stared at the moon floating in a comfortable bed along with the stars. And the view felt familiar to him.

_It was like this when I first heard him._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for me it was necessary to give the cute Holmes brothers a chapter to themselves. :)
> 
> woot woot

Fifteen minutes before seven o’clock. _And he chose this crucial time to come back in my life._

“M-Mycroft. Y-You’re here.” Sherlock can’t help but stumble on his choice of words.

“Shouldn’t I receive a hug from you? Have you missed me?” Mycroft tried to stand and opened his arms wide. Sherlock just felt mesmerized, it felt surreal.

_My brother really came back for me._

He counted every foot step he made towards Mycroft, and every step correspond a drop of multiple tears in his face. He tried to stifle them, but as the distance closed between them, his tears flooded. He never hugged his brother, instead he formed a fist with his hand and punched his brother’s chest, but without enough strength to do so. He had repeatedly done this as he cried harder than ever in his life. Mycroft hugged him tightly, his well-groomed clothes now wet with tears. He can’t also control his emotions and went teary-eyed.

No words were spoken. Brothers holding each other in their arms filled the gap of longing and loneliness.

Finally, it was Mycroft who first talked. “Sherlock, listen to me. I am here to fetch you from this stupid school and I promise you you’ll never see this place ever again.”

“But Mycroft, we don’t have money and how are you supposed to do that? And what’s all with this fancy grooming?”

“I was recruited at a bureaucrat training for the MI 5, and at a young age, I may be able to start working. Sherlock looked at his eyes and deduced, _I’m fifteen now, so unmistakably he is 21 years old._

“My men are currently outside, and you don’t need to pack anything. We need to leave at this instant right now.”

Sherlock hesitated at his brother’s statement. “I can’t right now. I’m meeting with my friend and I…”

“Brother, there is no time for such pointlessness! I’ve tried to reach this place a hundred times for me to get a chance to talk with you, and they never let me! If they catch you here again, all my efforts of gaining you back will be pointless!”

“Please, Mycroft. Let me see him!” Sherlock tried to run outside of the room, away from Mycroft’s grasp. As he approached the door, he was taken aback by some large men in suits.

“No! No! Please! Let me see him! I will do anything, just let me see him.” Sherlock struggled as he was grabbed by two of the four men by his shoulders. Again, tears raced in his face, as he repeatedly said, “Please… let me see him… please… just… once…” Eventually, his vision went black, and his strength faded.

“Was it really necessary to give him chloroform?” Mycroft protested to one of his men.

“In a kid his size Sir, it was.” One of them spoke.

Mycroft gave a poor look on his poor little brother now unconscious.

“Place him to the car where I am seated. I want to be the first one he’ll see when he wakes up.”

And from there silence filled the old, cracked room. The lights in the bathroom flickered and went off in an instant. And suddenly it went back on.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chap of this fic. :)

It was 8:05 on John’s clock, and at any moment, the light would be turned off, and the most awaited meeting will happen. There would be no more weird nicknames; instead they will call themselves immediately on first name basis.

8:10. 8:24. 8:39. 9:01. The light was still on. Out of his boredom, John pulled the grasses around hi spot, constantly checking his pocket if the towel was still there. 9:13. 9:25. 9:46. Still there was no motion. Crickets were the only ones he can hear, and no other person showed up other than himself.

10:00. 11:00. 12:00. As every hour passed he just clung to the white towel from his pocket. It became the receiver of his anger, disappointment, and hopelessness. He never felt to have three agonizing feelings at the same time, all towards the same person. To his surrender, he threw the towel to the ground, and stomped in it. Like a bomb, all of his feelings were thrown to the fabric, now dirtied and soiled. Every ounce of John’s strength was poured into doing so, until he was out of breath, and he was just there, lying under the sky that looked like a huge blanket.

_Never again._

Clothes now dirtied, he marched on his way back to his home, leaving the fabric lying on the ground. Out of his anger, he smiles. A few steps more and he’ll be home, away from disappointment, from frustration, from confusion.

A few minutes later, he found himself back to his spot. To why he came back, he never knew. The light of the bathroom was still on, and he just stared at it, wishing that even if he would just hear the voice one more time, he will be satisfied.

“Hello?” he called out once. No one replied.

“Hey, clever bastard! I’m here! Have you forgotten that we were supposed to meet?”

“Wakey, wakey Mr. Show off!”

“Hey! Are you there?!”

“Please, hear me out. Where are you?”

And there was nothing.

With the towel in his hand, he finally decided to go back disheartened.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the individual and respective stories of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, now moving on with their own, separate lives since their devastating childhood experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that every line you see means that scenes are changing, and probably it will shift from one character to the other.

John Watson was holding three bags of groceries as he struggled his way up on the stairs. _John Watson, idiot since the day he was born._ Now he is regretting why he chose a flat that was situated on the second floor. _I’ve killed people as a soldier. I am a licensed medical doctor, and yet here I am_. But he shook the idea out of his mind because after all, he was not alone.

Reaching for the doorknob, he shouted, “I’m home!”

* * *

Sherlock Holmes just received a call from Detective Inspector Lestrade. A murder has just occurred on Pentonville Road.

“Come on, Sherlock. This case is suited for the only consulting detective in the world.” The Scotland Yard officer begged him.

“Flattery will get you nowhere Lestrade. Confirm first that the idiots Donovan and Anderson have not contaminated the crime scene.” Sherlock replied in a deep commanding voice.

“They will be as is Your Grace. Will you bring him along with you?”

“That’s an absurd question. Of course.” Sherlock hung up immediately, as he heard footsteps, hearing a voice from the living room door.

“Murder!” he shouted back. “Get your coat, my dear blogger.”

* * *

 John felt like a slave, more like a tail. Five minutes ago, he was about to have a row with a pin and chip machine. Now he is riding on a cab with the most irritating, annoying yet most handsome and most loving person in the world.

_Probably I am hypnotized by him using that voice of his._

He just stared at him, as the other person stared outside through the cab window.

* * *

_Another great solve by the clever Sherlock Holmes!_ Sherlock was in a happy mood, as he was staring at the other man sitting across a dinner table, who now scans the menu carefully on what to order.

“Come on! I need my daily dose of praise and appreciation!” Sherlock said to the man, begging for it like a little kid.

“I’m out of adjectives Sherlock. Order your food now, please.” The man never looked up to him, still trying to find a food to order.

“You’re just jealous because I was flirting with that coffee shop clerk earlier, right? Oh come on. He was a component for the case, and for the love of God, I was never married to him, I was married to you!”

“Hmmm.” Now the man was trying to cover his face with the menu, blushing.

Sherlock grinned and suddenly, he removed the menu out of the other man’s hands. The other man was caught off guard, and Sherlock moved smoothly across him, kissing the man on the lips.

“Now what did I say on letting your guard down?” Sherlock smiled as he pulled away. The man was blushing, evidently due to the reddening of his cheeks, making Sherlock felt triumphant.

“Why did you do that? This is a public place!” The other one protested.

“It’s your fault, getting jealous and all. Now time for an adjective!”

“Sherlock Holmes, you amazing detective slash genius slash romantic bastard.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, Captain John Watson.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everybody confused? thought so. :)

As soon as they arrived on 221B Baker Street, Sherlock immediately went to his sofa chair in the living room, body relaxed, feet at ease, head hanging on the back of the chair.

“Coat off, Sherlock.” John reminded his husband, although evident that he is really tired chasing that suspect earlier. He was also, but just staring at his resting lover alleviates his stress a little bit.

“Mmm, a moment.” Sherlock closed his eyes, and in just a snap he was out on his current world. At moments like this, John knew that he was kind of shutting down, or rather, hibernating his mind palace, which is like a cog machine of sorts, always working, never stopping. How he does it, John never knew, but it was at these times that Sherlock is a human: delicate, fragile, vulnerable. And he was just only like this to John and John only.

A few minutes later, John was already in his dressing gown, and Sherlock was on his way to the bathroom.

“I’m just taking a shower. You can go to bed without me.” Sherlock said as John passed by him.

“Nope. Gonna wait for you.” John asserted.

Sherlock grinned, as he entered the bathroom.

John then proceeded to their bed, carrying with him his laptop. It’s time to once again update his blog for another awesome solve by Sherlock Holmes. _What should be an appropriate title for this? I want something vintage._ Finally, John had an idea of browsing through his old things Harry sent him a month ago. He went to his old room, where he stayed when he and Sherlock were just roommates of sorts. His memory of his first step in this flat is like that of Neil Armstrong’s first step on the moon: historical, unforgettable. Under the bed, he found the cardboard box containing his childhood things. _I wonder what Sherlock would think of me seeing these kinds of things._ He scanned through some books of basic biology, his old Doctor Who action figure, even his application form for the military was there. _Oh nostalgia, I don’t need you anymore._ Suddenly, he saw a familiar thing that he hasn’t seen for ages, yet he has never erased from his mind.

 _The small yet great towel of disappointment_.

John sighed at the sight of the fabric. _How many years have already passed? Has he lived a wonderful life? Did he even think about me for once? Did he have the conscience of even just having one word to me, letting me know that he is alive and has existed?_ As Sherlock told him, “Eliminate all impossibilities, and those remaining are the truth.”

_I hope he has a good life now._

Suddenly, his phone rang. A call from the best brother of the century.

“How’s my brother John.”

“Already dropped the formalities, huh? Well, under my watch, he is fine.”

“Good. Just checking on him… on you two. And yes calling you in a first name basis is still a cumbersome thing to me. Perhaps you two would fancy a dinner tomorrow evening.”

“I cannot assure you. After all, and sadly, he hates you Mycroft.”

“Ah yes. The things I’ve done in the past will always be the subject of blame. Either way, please do inform him.”

“You know I will.”

“Thank you. Very well.”

 _Poor Mycroft._ John said to himself. _What’s a mistake so big enough that Mycroft made his little brother, his only family, hate him for maybe a lifetime?_ It will still be a mystery to John.

Meanwhile Sherlock was submerging himself to the tub. Hot water was running through the faucet, and every moment of tactility made Sherlock feel weak. _It’s this feeling again._


	11. Chapter 11

John always wondered why Sherlock spends a minimum of one hour if he takes a bath. “You take a bath like a girl”, he always teased, along with his smile that brightens him up. But John never knew, and he will never know, what he always feels every single time he sets his foot in that small particular room in the flat.

 “All emotions are abhorrent to me.” Sherlock made this clear, which was kind of a lie, since he surrendered to his emotions when he married John Watson.

But still, the surge of emotions everytime he feels a droplet of water coming out from the showerhead touching his skin, is different from anything else; unexplainable even by him. Equipped with this emotions are his memories, memories of the past that he will never be able to fix, no matter what degree of genius resides inside him.

Running water did its job to Sherlock once again, as now memories and emotions try to sweep him one by one.

 _Hate._ That night when he awoke in a very large and luxurious room, he just let his tears roll down his face, as he shouted with all his might, covering his screams with a pillow. Once Mycroft entered, he was not the same Sherlock who longed for his brother. Every moment spent with him was a moment of abhorrence. _One moment was all I need. He redeemed me from that hell hole, but he placed me in the misery of losing the only friend I ever had and never met._

 _Regret._ There were many regrets on Sherlock’s life, and this tops the list. It has been 20 years since that happened, and yet his mind was filled with “ifs”. _If only I didn’t wait for that stupid summer break... If only I had the courage to break a few rules and come out every night he visited... If I only stood up and talked to Mycroft properly… If only I asked him his name…_

 _Self-blame._ Voices inside his head automatically play when he thinks of that memory. _It was because you were a coward. It was because you were damaged enough not to trust him. You hesitated, now taste the loss of someone who cared for you when no one else was there. You Sherlock Holmes, are a disappointment._

 _Fear._ _How long has he waited there? If we see each other again, what will I tell him? What face will I show him? Will he ever forgive me?_

Suddenly, Sherlock panicked. _I can’t breathe._ He immediately opened his eyes and resurfaced from the water, panting for oxygen. He then heard a knock on the door.

“Sherlock, love are you alright?” John asked on the other side.

Balancing his breath, Sherlock answered calmly, “Yes. Yes I am. Will be out soon.”

Sherlock rested his head on the tub. He felt his heart getting drowned in the deep, dark abyss of pain.

_Not again Sherlock, not again._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i am so so so so so so sorry for making everyone wait for this long. but school's over and i have so much time. and please do continue to watch out, as i will try to complete this work by this week to make it up to you guys. please forgive me
> 
> anyway, please enjoy this chapter

“How many times are you going to be a bloody idiot then?!”

John is now surging with anger, feeling the hotness of his face. Meanwhile, Sherlock was feeling really exhausted from the chase. Not to mention the pain in his left shoulder, blood stains evident in the bandage which has already been changed for the third time. John, being a doctor, was very alarmed at how much blood his husband lost, which brought the man paleness on his face and a lot of sweating. Sherlock rested immediately on his chair, finding minimal relief.

A perp, who murdered his own brother wrongly suspecting that he was sleeping with his girlfriend, was being chased by the duo. While running and unarmed, the detective was lured by the suspect in a corner and shot him on the shoulder, which in Sherlock’s defense, his only strategy, considering the unimaginable agility of the perp. John, who caught the perp found it very ridiculous, started blabbering about it while stitching up Sherlock. Upon changing the first bandage, John found the injury so alarming, as the large bandage was really covered up in red.

 _Shoot me in the head or inject me a ridiculous amount of morphine._ Oh so Sherlock wished.

“I know how you want to brilliantly solve a case and a minimum casualty involved, but not you included in that list as well!” John continued.

Sherlock protested in his mind, head resting and eyes closed. _Being a casualty is often a price to pay_.

“We left this place excited and now we arrive with you in bandages!”

_Oh please, the shoulder was the only one wrapped in bandages, not my entirety._

“Are you just gonna be quiet there all the time and ignore me? Because God Sherlock I am tired of stitching you up every time you break and…”

“AND YOU DON’T HAVE TO BRUSH EVERYTHING ON MY FACE BECAUSE I AM NOT A MACHINE WHO CANNOT HEAR YOUR BLABBERING AND AS FAR AS YOU KNOW I AM A GROWN MAN AND I DON’T NEED YOU TO ELABORATE EACH AND EVERY MISTAKE I DO! HEAR THAT? I DON’T NEED YOU!”

John was astonished to each and every word that came out of his husband’s mouth. The last words even seemed to echo in his ears. _I DON’T NEED YOU!_ He just stared directly on Sherlock’s eyes. The detective on the other hand, was also shocked of the words he uttered; now feeling tense on what John’s reaction would be, breathing heavily.

“John… I…”

John just smiled.

“John…”

He bowed his head and continued to grin.

It was like that for seconds, Sherlock trying to eat back the words he spoke, and John just smiled. Finally, movement was observed when John turned his back to Sherlock, and with no words, opened their main door, going out, and slowly closed it. Sherlock tried to stop him, but he can already hear the footsteps John was making going downwards.

Sherlock felt a cold rush of blood trickling from his open wound going down his back.

_I hurt him, so much. This pain…  I’ve never felt pain like this before._

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> updating as fast as i can :) enjoy!

Panting, sweating, stumbling. Sherlock, in his disheveled hair and naked upper torso, was all by himself in the almost large and wide spaced area of 221B. His shoulder won’t stop bleeding, and he can’t tend to himself, although he has all the knowledge in the world to do so. Practicality is not his area, if you must. Worst, John is gone and he does not know where he is or is he even coming back.

Falling a few times on the floor, he finally reached John’s old room, thinking that it was his. Almost stumbling again, he gripped a pile of clothes. But falling was inevitable. The world’s only consulting detective is now helplessly slumped on the floor, catching up his breathe like he ran a thousand miles.

Feeling the morphine dosage he injected an hour back taking effect, the room seems to peek him a light, and an almost clear vision. Still breathing heavily, he saw a familiar cloth among those clothes scattered in the floor. He took it, a white piece of towel that seemed familiar to his touch. An attachment seemed to form between his hand and to the cloth, and as he strolled his fingers and eyes to it he saw a faded little _S_ that made his heart jolt.

_Finally, it’s here. It was and has been in the rightful hands._

Morphine’s not enough, his brain told him. The blood never stops from playfully dripping from the hole in his shoulder. Almost dragging his feet, he went to the bathroom where a packet full of heroin was hidden. Never had he taken heroin in a very long time but his brain orders him to do so. Thanking the heavens, there was still more than enough morphine in his pocket.

Sherlock situated himself in the most horrible place in the house, the bath tub. The door was unknowingly locked, the shower curtain fell after he grabbed it for balance, the faucet running water mildly in the sink. The props are ready, and in a few minutes, he will embark in an adventure without pain. He never thought he would say these hurtful words again.

“Goodbye John. I am so sorry. I love you.”

Chest going up and down, he successfully took five pills of morphine simultaneously and inserted the needle in the vein of his left arm and the fluid in the syringe started to go down, with the white towel pressing hard on his bullet wound.

* * *

 

John stepped out of the cab that was driving him all throughout the night. He paid the driver 500 pounds to shut the cabby up and drive him for an hour around a chilly London. This is where he calmed himself down. _Of course I can’t leave him alone there, with that condition of him._ But he also felt the need to protect himself from the painful feeling, let alone the shouting Sherlock has done to him right in the face. And God, those words… those words… made him feel vulnerable and useless.

Stopping by the pharmacy before going home, he bought a lot of gauze and patches that maybe helpful for the next days.

Now he’s back to the stairs of the apartment. He looked up to their window. _It’s still open, the lights._ He still does not know how to approach Sherlock after this, but he was wounded, and of course _I love him_ he thought. _I love him and I want to stay with him if he lets me._

Slowly pacing the stairs upwards, he realized that the apartment was quiet. No telly sounds, no melancholic violin melodies, no glass shattering. He heard the sound of silence. _Maybe he has been fast asleep._

The clinging of his keys and his big sigh marked the emptiness in John’s brain. Upon opening, he felt fear as he saw the disoriented interior of the house: skewed sofa chairs, broken lamps, the skull on the floor, the empty foils of morphine scattered on the floor.

“Sherlock?” he mustered to call his name, although he felt a pain in his chest upon saying it.

“Sherlock, where are you?” He followed several packets until he reached his old room, with all his clothes on the floor, and the box of his old things as well. Running through the kitchen, heart filled with fear, he heard the running water in the bathroom. “Sherlock?” He banged the door. “Sherlock?!”

Then he heard a subtle voice.

_Goodbye John. I am so sorry. I love you._

With his full force, he kicked the bathroom door thrice until it opened.

Finally he found Sherlock and was flooded with relief, but another surge of fear as he found his beloved husband, lying on the floor, eyes almost dropping, sweat and blood mixed flooding in his shirt, with a syringe at hand, almost unconscious, and the perfect white towel is now soaked in Sherlock's blood. John rushed towards him, tears now pooling in his eyes.

The dust from the kicked door flew. The shower curtain was still on the floor. The water in the faucet continued to run. The syringe rolled on the floor. The blood-filled towel fell on the tub. 

John is now hugging Sherlock.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short short short

“Oh God, Sherlock! Sherlock I am here, your John is here. Please answer me.” A quarter amount of the fluid inside the syringe was successfully consumed by the detective, but John was lucky that only a particular amount was used. But he is still not responding.

Sherlock’s eyes are now half-lidded, but are trying to wake up to confirm the hallucination before his eyes.   _John._ He cupped the face of the image, whose tears are wetting his face. The he spoke to it.

“I can do this now that you’re gone, John. I should’ve felt guilty in all those years, because the boy I thought that I will never see again in this lifetime has always been my best friend, my protector, the only one that I will love. You leaving me was not a reckless move as well.”

“Don’t talk like that to me your bastard. You will not leave me, not again.”

“One more thing… John please… That towel… with a little S on it, please give it back to the rightful owner…” John took the towel from the tub and was shocked to the revelations before him. “He was a rebellious boy who has been a dear friend of mine when I was in boarding school. I called him midget. We always talked you know, me inside the bathroom and him outside, on a chilly night. His adventures made me want to explore the world…”

John cannot contain his emotions and now he started to cry, towel in his hand.

“Apologize to him… for me… please.”

“You really are an idiot. You’re already apologizing to him, show-off bastard.”

“As I have thought.”

“And I believe you owe him a lot.”

“Yes… I do.” Now Sherlock is almost sleepy.

“Well, you only need to do one thing for him. Stay alive and love him until the rest of your life. That is an order.”

“J-John…”

Then everything went black as Sherlock drifted into an almost unending slumber.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> final chapter guys!  
> thanks for reading this fic! It was overwhelming seeing all of you read it! thanks! *bows*

 

Sherlock felt the dryness in his throat. His eyelids are still heavy as he tries to open them. An annoying tube was attached to his nose. He realized he was in a stupid hospital.

  _John_. That was the first thing on his mind.

“J-John.”

He tried to lift a finger but it was heavy, but warm. It’s like a hand was touching it.

“John.” He successfully uttered the most comforting name.

“Sherlock?” a voice finally responded.

“John. W-water.”

“Yes yes of course here.” John gently aided his husband with a drink.

“Hey, you’re back.” John said happily. Although evident in his face the lack of sleep and tired eyes.

“Of course. I have a debt to pay, right?”

“How are you doing my lovable show-off bastard?”

Sherlock chuckled, “I’m quite fine my dear midget. How many days am I here?”

“It’s our second day here and frankly I was happy I haven’t been waiting that long.”

“Look, John I am so sorry. When you left I really don’t know what to do with the pain I am dealing at that time. It wasn’t just the pain I felt in my body, it was like a pain in the heart.”

“Sherlock, it was stupid enough for me to leave you there in that condition. I let my pride rule in first.”

“But I promised you John, before our wedding, to never take drugs again. I broke it.”

“Well there’s always a chance to change.” John kissed Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock felt comfort in it, gripping his husband’s hand tight.

“Who would believe that we are really destined together, ever since the first day we met at that stupid bathroom wall?”

“The towel Sherlock… I never thought that it has been you all these time.”

“It bugged me John, that we never saw each other that time. That was the night Mycroft forcefully restrained me to go with him, leaving you alone in that solitary place. I want to apolog-“

“Shh Shh. Stop it Sherlock. Fate made ways. The thing is we are still meant to be together.”

“Ah yes, the heart and the brain.”

“Maintaining balance, for each other.”

Sherlock kissed John’s lips. They stared at each other for a long time and both chuckled, then kissed again, like it was just the two of them in the world. Both of them felt one emotion: happiness, that they were destined to be together, that the road they took lead them to finding back each other, that fate made ties before they even knew it. But all the emotions they experienced, will always be the reason of this happiness.

The towel was hanged outside the window. Its pure white color was never regained, and the red color left by blood cannot be removed. A strong wind blew, and it danced with it as it drifted far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beautiful fanart made by my dearest friend and beta odetoyoghurts: http://odetoyoghurts.tumblr.com/image/145205654246


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